


Currents in Stillwater

by ashkatom



Series: FBaTNverse [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestors, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:22:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashkatom/pseuds/ashkatom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been long enough since he died that Dualscar has forgotten how to be a person, and having his past thrown in his face isn't helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Currents in Stillwater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldhope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldhope/gifts).



You are used to time passing. It does a lot of that. First it passed when you were young, in a storm of bad decisions that resulted in two thick, twisted scars through your face, a slight obsession with your Empress, and Marquise Spinneret Mindfang as a kismesis. The few sweeps when everything went wrong flashed by; the centuries of sweeps afterward you spent drifting with the current dragged.

Now it just... passes. You don’t have to think about it. And that’s nice. Or it would be, if now your brain wasn’t filled up with new information, new people – and old. Occasionally you let yourself sink to the bottom of the lake, close your eyes, and pretend you’re back on your own. You forget about how Spin’s got a fiercer love for Ruf and a twistier hate for Red than she ever had for you, and about the blatant come-ons from Psi that you are _not allowed_ to act on, and about how earnest Suf tugs on strings of pity that you didn’t know you had, and most of all you shove out of your mind the unreadable looks Dolorosa gives you, her face as blank as when she was your slave and she could barely think for herself.

You’re starting to understand how immense that was, now that you can see the difference. Not that you’re following her around or anything, but her hive is closer than yours and communal enough that it’s not weird to go there to get a drink. Without fail, the tranquility of self you find is snapped when you see Dol and Red curled up together, or her and one of her grubs doing something bond-y and affectionate. You seem magnetically called to need something to eat exactly whenever she’s combing out Dis’ hair or doing the dishes with Suf. You see expressions on her face that you didn’t know existed; happiness, fond exasperation, caring.

It probably shouldn’t make you feel sick.

When you talk to Mindfang about it and ask her if she regrets anything, she starts laughing. You think that’s a no, but then again, Spin is spectacular at lying to herself and also you catch her watching Ruf sadly every so often afterwards. So maybe this kind of self-hating reminiscence is normal for former terrors of the ocean.

And because it’s easier than facing up to what you did, you drift in the lake for most of your waking hours. You leave when Suf wants to talk to you, because his sociopolitical theories are _interesting_ , to say the least, and when you don’t want to be found you go back to your wreck and don’t answer the door for Spin even when she starts knocking in eights, and occasionally you’re dragged into some group activity and so you act normal, since that’s what Dol’s doing.

Of course, this comes screeching to a halt when you surface one day and Dol is sitting on the platform you keep your clothes and shit on, feet tucked up under her and book in hand. You strongly contemplate just sinking back under the water and pretending you’re not here, but you get the feeling Dol knows. One thing you have learned in the few weeks you’ve been here is that Dol always knows.

You decide to stay in the water, at least. Hopefully you can swim out of throwing things distance, even if the woman has an arm on her that professional sportstrolls would be envious of.

“Somefin I can do for you?” you enquire when you’re close enough to not need to shout.

Dol looks up from her book, her eyes catching the light oddly. If you didn’t know better than to presume, you’d think she looked... scared. Unnerved. Not happy, at the least. You do your absolute best to not notice.

It doesn’t work.

She captchalogues the book in a spray of light that makes you wince, then scoots over to the edge and shuffles until she’s comfortable, her feet trailing in the water, skirt hitched up to avoid getting the hem wet. “Sit with me,” she says, and your heart sinks to your feet.

You haul yourself out of the water and grab a towel while mentally fortifying yourself. You think you can handle everything except anything relating to her grubs. Because, well, you know Dol – kind of. You’ve seen her angry, real and fierce anger, and you’ve seen her rip someone to shreds with a few words. You still have the mental scars. And that was just her. She treasures her grubs above all else, and if she’s here because Psi keeps tripping you in the hall you may be a dead man walking. Double dead. Extra dead. Dead for keeps.

You don’t think your hair is going to get any drier. You sit next to her and dangle your feet in the water too. She barely comes up to your shoulder, horns and all, and you are silently terrified she has finally decided to eviscerate you.

“How much time do you spend down here?” she asks, once you’ve settled into something resembling comfort.

“Uh,” you say, blindsided by the innocent question. “A lot?”

Dol gets her look of disapproval on. You remember it well. “A lot?”

“I _am_ a fuckin seadweller,” you protest.  “Naut one a’ your grubs.”

She sighs and links her hands together in her lap, and your hand twitches with the need to rest on her shoulder before you slap the impulse down, hard. Just because it’s the dynamic you’re used to doesn’t mean it’s the one that reigns now. Even if she does look tired.

“You don’t talk about your world,” she says, after a long time. “Or about anything relating to you, after you died. I found out how you died from Mindfang.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, and run out of words. “It ain’t important.”

Dol turns to look up at you, and you look down at her. Then, before you realise quite what happened, half your face is on fire and she’s shaking out her hand. You bite off a stream of curses as you press your hand to your face in an attempt to soothe the stinging.

“I did not bring you here,” Dol bites, “to have you float around feeling sorry for yourself. I slapped sense into you once and I’ll do it again.”

“What are you, my morayeel?” you bite back and wait for the inevitable explosion. It is official: you are insane and all fucked up in the pale quadrant. This woman is the closest thing you’ve had in a long time to a moirail and all you can do is push her buttons in the hope she’ll suddenly remember how fucked up the situation is and leave you alone to deal with it.

She kicks her heels against the shelf of rock and doesn’t say anything. Her lips are pressed together in that hope-you-didn’t-need-that-paperwork kind of way, and you wonder if you can scoot away before she decides to slap you again.

“It irks me,” she says finally. “I remember what it was like, when Sufferer died.”

You weren’t there when he was killed. You’re pettily glad of that, every time you see the two of them together. He’s so loudly alive that it’s hard to remember he’s dead, and you think that helps Dol. She used to have nightmares, even in sopor.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

She shakes her head. “Who _are_ you?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!” you snap. “You want to know what happened? Fine! I spent six centuries at the bottom a’ the fuckin’ ocean an’ all I could remember was you kickin’ me in the shins for bein’ a shithead!”

“You were an immense shithead,” Dol says.

“Yeah, thanks, I figured that one out.” You fold your arms and hunch in. “Are you done bein’ all interrogative for no fuckin’ reason, or what?” You can feel a headache coming on and you want to get back in the water, where nobody will be able to talk at you and make you think.

You feel Dol sigh more than anything. There’s a long, drawn-out silence where all you’re aware of is the current in the water made by her feet and the tangible feel of a real person next to you, not just the product of a century of being alone, too much loneliness, and a touch of hope. When Suf had first found you, you didn’t think he was real. You’re still not entirely convinced that this isn’t some very unpleasant trick of the mind.

“I want this to work,” Dol says, eventually. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s my responsibility, and it has to work.” When you don’t respond, she keeps talking, which is a hilarious inversion of your former dynamic. “This is the only chance so many of us have had for a peaceful existence. And if you want to waste it by ignoring us all and going insane at the bottom of the lake, you’re more than welcome. But we’re trying to build life.”

You dig your fingers into the rock you’re sitting on in order to not throw yourself back into the water. You’re not very good at this whole peaceful existence thing – your name is _Orphaner_ , you didn’t get it by rescuing kittens.

“This whole thing would be better off without me,” you say, and shrug. “I ain’t built for teamwork, Dol.”

“How silly of me,” she says, tartly. “Here, just let me abandon you to the prison of your own head, instead. Clearly that is a much better option.”

“What do you want from me?” You throw your hands up. “I was expectin’ you to exile me an’ declare your undyin’ platonic hate, so I’m not real shore what I’m workin’ with here, an’ it’d kelp to know!”

“You’re not used to forgiveness, are you?” Dol asks, and god damn her very bones, there is _pity_ in her voice. You resolutely don’t look at her, only to jump out of your skin when she lays a hand on your shoulder. She’s comfortably warm and the rest of you feels cold by comparison.

“It ain’t a feature of the Empire,” you say, and hold stock-still so you won’t lean into her hand, or pull away, or send any signals whatsoever.

“After Sufferer died.” She pauses and swallows, then continues. “After that, I withdrew so far into myself that I wasn’t me. You know this.”

You nod.

“And then Mindfang happened,” she says, glossing over a good quarter-sweep of psychological and physical abuse that even the Empire would use sparingly, “and I was knocked even further into my head, and then you killed me.”

“Sorry,” you croak out again, then cough as if your throat was blocked.

“Don’t be,” she snaps. “Listen. When I woke up here, I was... reset. I was – am – able to deal with everything that has happened, on my own terms now, and I am getting better. You, on the other hand– “ She jabs you in the shoulder, and you yelp in surprise. Woman has long nails. “You are locking youself away and getting worse.”

“I ain’t needed here!” you snap back. “There ain’t any fuckin’ room for an idiot with his head stuck up his own ass an’ a propensity to murder anyone who disagrees wwith him!”

“I don’t know, Mindfang seems to have made herself comfortable.” You’re Not Looking at Dol, but you can still see the edge of her smile, which is a tad more vicious than you are comfortable being near – violence is part of your schtick, yes, but you do not want to get caught in this particular crossfire. To your surprise, she squeezes your shoulder and stands up. “It’s a new world, Dualscar. You don’t have to be who you think you are, and you’re welcome even if you’re not needed. Don’t be stupid.”

“I think you kicked the stupid outta me,” you grouse. “I still have some a’ the bruising.”

“Good,” Dol says, and walks off, the hem of her dress swishing against the ground.

You have no idea what just happened and your head hurts.

\--

Later that night you leave off your armour, buckle on a cape over a shirt you particularly like and that Dol will remember as the one you wouldn’t let her set on fire, and climb the stairs up to her hive. There aren’t many people there yet, but you know that the place tends to fill up around mealtimes.

Dol and her grubs are in the kitchen, and all of them look up at you when you walk in. Thankfully, you’re used to the staring treatment – mysterious scars are good for that – and you resolutely ignore them as you begin taking things out of the fridge and stacking them on a countertop.

“Not that food tower collapse isn’t entertaining, but what did the food ever do to you?” Suf asks when you’ve assembled a good pile of things.

You pull a knife out of the knife drawer and check its edge. “None a’ you cretins know how to cook,” you say, and feel Dol’s eyes boring into your back. “I am goin’ to introduce you to the world a’ food that has flavour in it an’ not charcoal.”

There’s a long silence. You can feel them exchanging glances of confusion behind your back.

“Do you need any help?” Disciple asks, cautiously.

There’s an even longer silence. Finally you manage to say, “If you want.”

You still don’t know if you’re ever going to be an asset to this strange new world, but the only way you’re going to get there is by working towards it. And it seems that you’ll always have Dol to kick you, whether or not you deserve her.


End file.
